


You Just Suck At Self Preservation

by overratedantihero



Series: You Don't Own Me (I'm Not One of Your Many Toys) [6]
Category: DCU, Deathstroke - Fandom, Nightwing - Fandom, Red Hood and the Outlaws
Genre: ABO, Alpha Jason, Alpha Slade, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Arguing, Coping Using Violence, Feelings of Unjustified Entitlement, Jealousy, M/M, Mention of Self Mutilation, Omega Dick, Panic Attack, Scenting, claim mark, emotional aftercare, physical aggression, reference to past sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-29 15:17:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16746439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Jason never got over his child like love/hate of Dick. It makes it all the more difficult when he discovers Dick quietly mated with someone else.Dick copes with the aftermath.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some aftermath for y’all :)

One week. It had been one week since Jason had spoken to Bruce, after leaving Dick with Slade. One week since Bruce scorned him, sent him away like an animal incapable of protecting their gilded omega; the omega who Bruce abandoned in favor of a kitten’s claws. Jason hadn’t seen Dick in Gotham since, and Jason was too ashamed to try and scout for him in Bludhaven. Not yet.

But despite space, perhaps because of it, guilt crawled under Jason’s skin like insects. He vented his restlessness out on the streets daily, paying no heed to conventional wisdom or Bruce’s tutelage which demanded occasional rest for aching, overworked muscles. Jason couldn’t rest; a moment alone and he may have carved into his own skin, if only to slice away the incessant skittering that gnawed and tickled his nerves and capillaries. Or he may have called Dick. Both outcomes were too terrible to risk.

The choice, as it turned out, was not his. On a particularly brutal night, when a few henchmen made the unfortunate decision to gather for a game a poker before a substantial job, Jason dove in without gloves. Fingerprints meant nothing to a dead man, least of all a dead man who’s played with sulfuric acid on more than one occasion. And so, he punched and clawed and felt the flesh that broke and wrapped around his bare fingers. He could have kept going except for the Lycra clad arm that wrapped around his throat and drug him from a quivering man who’d yelped and cried like a kicked dog beneath Jason’s grasp.

“Easy, Red Hood,” Nightwing murmured against the helmet. “Easy.”

Jason released the patsy, who clumsily ran away with a choked scream. The arm against his throat was applying enough pressure to white out his reddened vision. Jason stole an inhale, his jaw dropping open, but not to breathe. He only wanted a taste of Dick’s scent. When Jason was Robin, Dick’s scent was cinnamon sugar, like Alfred’s snickerdoodle recipe. Around Bruce, Dick scalded into burnt sugar and cardamom, and the flavor used to stick to adolescent Jason’s tongue like molasses. When Jason returned from Talia and the League, Dick smelled different. He wasn’t warm and sugary, he was thick and floral and cloying in such a way that made it difficult to breathe.

But in that moment? Dick didn’t smell like anything at all.

So transfixed was he by Dick’s nothingness, Jason slid to the floor when Dick released him. Jason gazed up Nightwing’s slender form, past the crossed arms, to the frown. Jason relished the attention, even if it were accompanied by the familiar sting of disappointment. He remembered the feeling of Dick’s lithe body wrapped around him, remembered when Dick needed him. Jason should have lapped up Dick’s vulnerability when he had the chance. He wondered, did Dick taste floral, or sweet?

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Dick finally spoke, once the room was vacated by all but themselves and the smell of blood, “but most usually include a sharp edge. What were you thinking? Let me see your hands.”

Jason showed his slick palms, fully aware that Dick was more interested in the tissue beneath his fingernails. Dick sighed.

“Is there anyone else here? Are you waiting on anyone?” Dick asked, uncrossing his arms. Jason dropped his hands.

“You, me, and the devil makes three,” Jason slurred. “What’re you doing here? You feeling alright?”

The cruel slant to Dick’s mouth softened, and the wrinkles between his eyebrows smoothed. Dick sunk to the ground next to Jason, and it was like watching water pour from a fountain. Or a cat slink to the ground from a perch. Maybe it was too soon for cat metaphors.

“I’m alright,” Dick murmured. “Maybe Bruce and I aren’t, but I’m okay.”

Jason grimaced. “Bruce can go fuck himself.”

Dick grinned, a little lopsidedly, and little sweetly. “Yeah. He can.”

Jason glanced at Dick’s wrists where they rest on his knees. Dick hadn’t tried to scent mark him once since he’d arrived. He didn’t often, as Nightwing, but when they were alone and drenched in gore, Nightwing did it unerringly.

“I can’t smell you,” Jason accused. “Why are you wearing scent blockers? When have you ever worn scent blockers?”

Dick’s brows furrowed and he straightened his back. “I wore them every day as Robin, since when did you give a fuck what I wear?”

Petulant and drunk on adrenaline, Jason found himself terribly offended. Dick’s scent wasn’t just Dick’s to hoard, Dick made sure of that when he decided to scent mark the entire family to hell and back. He made it that way when he drug Jason into his fucked up heat and into his fucked up relationship with Slade Wilson.

And now, Dick was depriving Jason of his scent. More than that, he was denying Jason the base affection he offered to everyone else, from the Titans to members of his Rogue Gallery. It was Dick who asked Jason to stay while Dick was vulnerable, and yet here was Jason, rendered unnecessary by Bruce and now denied fundamental comfort from, of all people, Dick.

But that’s what Dick Grayson did, wasn’t it? He batted his big, blue eyes and made you feel as if you were his entire world, and then, once you blink against that blinding light, he’s cast his consuming attention elsewhere and there’s no warmth left for you. Roy had warned Jason. Roy knew what it was like to be loved by Dick only to then buckle beneath Dick’s anger.

Jason had always liked Dick’s anger. Dick considered Jason’s a liability.

Jason removed his helmet and placed it gently on the ground, because he made a decision. Dick mistook the gesture as one of openness, and his shoulders relaxed. Jason soaked in Dick’s miscalculation only for a moment before he launched himself at Dick’s neck with a growl.

In a fight, Dick could best Jason. Dick had bested Jason, multiple times. But where Dick was lean and acrobatic, Jason was hard muscle. And while Dick was crafty and agile, Jason had the benefit of surprise. Jason had Dick pinned on his back before Dick could so much as shout.

“Red Hood, don’t!” Dick managed to cry out, right before Jason ripped off the scent blocker positioned directly over Dick’s gland behind his ear. Dick hissed in pain as the sticker took off some bloody flesh with it, but Jason’s ears were wringing.

Dick had let Slade bite him. Bite him proper.

Jason inhaled Dick’s scent, but it was soured by panic as Dick attempted to wriggle out from underneath Jason. Jason didn’t even realize he was growling until Dick managed to free a fist and punch him in the throat.

Jason stopped growling to gurgle, but he didn’t let up his grip. He caught Dick’s wrist and held it to the ground. Now Dick was snarling, glaring up at Jason with unkempt fury. Dick was also working his legs out from under Jason, wrapping them around Jason’s waist in an attempt to find leverage out of the pin. Jason let him. He could pretend Dick wanted his legs there, that this wasn’t what it was. Jason wanted Dick’s touch so fucking badly and he tried so hard to abide by Dick’s arbitrary standards for others’ behavior. Standards Dick didn’t bother to keep himself.

“What, I wasn’t good enough?” Jason hissed, jutting his chin towards Dick’s neck.

“It wasn’t about you!” Dick shouted. “Jason, let me go! Get off of me!”

“It’s not enough to spread your legs for him, you had to make it legal?” Jason continues, grinding Dick’s wrist into the concrete. He wore gauntlets, he’d be fine. “If you needed an alpha, why... _why not me_?”

“You weren’t there,” Dick spat.

“I was,” Slade’s rich voice materialized from behind Jason. Jason refused to turn around. To turn his back on Dick. “Release him, Jason,” Slade chided.

“This doesn’t involve you, Slade,” Jason spat. Dick grimaced. “Go away.”

“I’m his alpha. You’re hurting him. It involves me.”

“I’m not hurting—” Jason began, but Dick jerked in his grasp.

“Yes, you are!” Dick shouted, chest heaving, face twisted in disgust. Sweat was beading at his temples and it looked like he couldn’t get air. It looked like the beginnings of a panic attack. Cold realization slid through Jason’s veins and solidified into a lump in his throat.

Jason froze and so Slade gripped the back of Jason’s coat and peeled him away from Dick as easily as one would an overexcited puppy. Slade tossed Jason to the side and Jason landed on his ass, dazed.

From that degraded position, Jason watched as Dick scrambled to tuck his head underneath Slade’s head while Slade scent marked him. Slade not so subtly brushed the dirt and dried blood from Dick’s uniform. Jason glanced at his own hands. He’d smeared some of the blood onto Dick. He’d sullied Dick with his touch. He’d reminded Dick of _her_.

“Dick, I didn’t— I wasn’t— I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Jason whimpered. “Not... not like that.”

“I know. Go home, Jason,” Dick murmured into Slade’s skin. Jason didn’t move. He watched as Slade cooed and stroked and pet Dick. He watched Dick melt under the ministrations, watched as Dick tilted his neck so that Slade could lap at the excess blood the sticker caused to seep from the bite wound.

Then, Slade picked Dick up as if he weighed nothing. Dick liked to be carried, Jason remembered that from when Kori carried him everywhere.

As Slade passed by Jason, Jason heard him murmur to Dick, “I warned you, little bird. They’re unfit. I won’t allow this twice.”

And worse yet, Dick’s response— “I know. Take me home, Slade.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick’s aftermath.

Dick had, for lack of a better term, an emotional hangover.

It would have been better if Slade had stayed after the incident with Jason, but nearly as soon as they’d arrived at Dick’s Bludhaven apartment, Wintergreen called with some emergency or another. Slade didn’t offer details, and Dick was too exhausted to inquire. He could still taste blood and rainwater after his encounter with Jason, he didn’t need the additional burden.

Dick liked Wintergreen. He hadn’t had much interaction with him, since he’d allowed Slade’s bite, but the posh accent and practical sensibilities reminded him of Alfred. Still, Wintergreen was no placeholder for Slade, and Dick declined when Slade offered him Wintergreen’s company while Slade was out.

Instead, Slade wrapped Dick in an electric blanket turned on high and left Dick one of his soft, cotton t-shirts to use as a pillowcase. Once Dick was thoroughly swaddled, Slade crouched down and brushed his wrist across Dick’s cheek to scent mark him. Dick thought back to when Slade called excessive scent marking aggressive on the part of an alpha. And then he recalled how easily Slade peeled Jason off of Dick.

“Don’t forget your breathing techniques, kid,” Slade said, and Dick realized he’d stopped breathing entirely. For Slade’s watchful eye as well as his own benefit, Dick went through a three part breathing exercise. Satisfied, Slade leaned down and kissed Dick’s forehead before leaving with a duffel slung over his shoulder.

For the first hour or so, Dick buried his nose in Slade’s shirt and considered calling someone. But who could he call? Wally, Roy, and Kori hated Slade, and Roy and Kori were too close to Jason anyhow. Donna would tell Diana, and Diana would tell Bruce and Clark. Garth was in Atlantis. Damian never held his tongue, even for Dick. Never mind Barbara.

M. M was an option. Dick wiggled an arm free from his cocoon of blankets and unburied his cellphone from the mess of pillows. But when he dialed the number and the phone began ringing, Dick’s stomach twisted.

M was an alpha, Apollo was an alpha. Jason was an alpha, Bruce was an alpha. There were too many, and it was too much. Against them, Dick felt cornered and untethered. He could blame his isolation on his new courtship with Slade, but what of Bruce’s neglect?

Dick ended the call and threw his phone across the room, buried his face into Slade’s shirt, and fell asleep.

When he woke, it was to a hand on his shoulder. Without opening his eyes, Dick inhaled, expecting Slade. But it wasn’t Slade, and Dick registered the wrongness of the scent at the same time that he registered his cell phone’s alarm, the one connected to his home security system, blaring from the floor.

With his next breath, Dick lashed out against the intruder with the nightstick he kept underneath his pillows. It connected, and the intruder grunted. But, by then Dick opened his eyes and caught sight of who’d woken him from his sleep.

“Bruce,” Dick growled, settling back on the bed, suddenly grateful that he deigned to wear pajamas. After what happened with Jason, his usual sleep attire, or lack thereof, felt too exposing.

It had grown dark outside but light pollution cast a dim glow in the room from the window (left without blinds or curtains, for when Slade returned.) Bruce, dressed in a button up and slacks, frowned, stepping back and rubbing his forearm where Dick had hit him. Dick kept a tight grip on the nightstick.

“You broke in,” Dick muttered, glancing sharply to his abandoned cellphone. Bruce strode to the phone, picked it up, and brought it to Dick. Dick turned off the alarm.

“The door was locked,” Bruce said, as if that were a reasonable explanation. “Are you expecting a call from Oracle? Your alarm went off for over a minute.”

Dick’s jaw tensed. Bruce’s tone was accusatory. Dick had slept through his alarm, that was sin enough, but now Bruce wanted to scrutinize his contingency plan.

“No,” Dick murmured. “There’s an alert. It doesn’t go to Oracle.” He didn’t offer further information. Bruce narrowed his eyes but didn’t press.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked instead, taking a step closer to the bed. Dick shifted further away on the mattress. He wondered if Jason had spoken to Bruce, if Bruce could see the bite on Dick’s neck in the dimly lit room.

“Uncharacteristically dour,” Dick clipped. “How is Selina?”

Bruce frowned. “If she’s keeping you from coming home—”

“She’s not,” Dick said sharply. Dick loved Selina. She gave Dick his first estrus pad. “She’s a vic, same as me. How is she?”

After a heavy pause, during which Dick and Bruce stared at one another, Bruce said, “She’s fine. She’s not speaking to Harley or Isley, but she’s since recovered. I had the R&D review their security practices, your next prescription should be ready in the next week or so.”

“I’ve already scheduled an appointment to get an IUD,” Dick said. Bruce nodded.

“I’ll drive you,” Bruce said. When Dick shook his head, Bruce frowned. “Then Alfred will drive you.”

“No,” Dick snapped back. “It’s taken care of, Bruce. I couldn’t rely on you for information or healthcare when my medication was tampered with, I won’t do it after the fact.”

“Selina—” Bruce’s voice rose, but Dick cut him off.

“Do not blame Selina!” Dick shouted, rising on his knees and lurching forward to meet Bruce’s glare. “Selina’s heat ended, and you still sent Babs and Helena and Dinah rather than confront me.” He lowered his voice. “You made your choices, I’ve made mine.”

Dick could see the moment Bruce caught sight of Dick’s mark. It was only a matter of time. Dick had moved closer, a cloud outside drifted, letting in a little more moonlight. 

Bruce’s lip curled. “What have you done?”

Dick sat back. His expression smoothed. “I told you. I made my choices.”

“Barbara told me you hadn’t been bitten,” Bruce ground out.

“I hadn’t, when you sent her.” Dick cocked his head. Bruce was playing ignorant. Slade’s scent was all over the apartment, all over Dick’s bed. Dick’s apartment was unusually clean, a byproduct of militaristic Slade nesting during Dick’s heat and aftercare. There was a bottle of whiskey next to Dick’s usual bottle of Taaka on the kitchen bar, which Bruce would have had to have seen on his way to the bedroom. Dick’s phone chirped but both men ignored the notification as they stared at one another.

A spark of adrenaline licked up Dick’s spine. “That’s actually what convinced me,” Dick murmured. “I wasn’t sure, and then you sent messengers. You didn’t have the decency to come yourself, what kind of alpha does that?” There. Bruce’s mouth twitched. That landed. Dick’s anger reared its ugly head, he felt emboldened.

Dick dropped the nightstick and sat back on his palms. The nightstick rolled from the bed and landed to the floor with a thud, inciting another twitch from Bruce. “So I asked Slade to bite me,” Dick finished. That wasn’t entirely true; Dick was going to ask Slade to bite him before Babs and Co. arrived. But finding another call of Bruce’s to tear apart left Dick with a twisted satisfaction. No one could check Bruce, not enough to change him. Dick certainly couldn’t. But he could hurt him.

“He was here, Bruce. He stayed. You wouldn’t.”

Bruce took a deep, steadying sigh, but Dick could see Bruce’s clenched fists. Good. Let Bruce hit him. It would only punctuate Dick’s point.

“You think Slade Wilson is going to be present for you, Dick?” Bruce ground from clenched teeth. “Like he was for his own children?”

Dick cocked his head. “He did try to kill the Titans after Grant died. That’s more than you’ve ever done for yours.”

That did it. Bruce lurched forward and grabbed the front of Dick’s sleep shirt, pulling Dick up and so close that their noses nearly touched. Dick wasn’t worried. He’d seen Slade beat Bruce in a fight, and that notification from his phone was Slade entering the front door with his key code. Slade was the better alpha, and Dick was willing to prove it.

“You and Jason, like father, like son,” Dick murmured. “Can’t get either of you to talk to me, but you sure will throw me around.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but light flooded the room from where Slade flicked the switch. Both Bruce and Dick snapped their attention to the room’s threshold where Slade, in casual dress, leaned against the door frame.

“You woke him up,” Slade murmured, “the least you can do is put him down.”

“Wilson,” Bruce snipped, releasing Dick to focus on the new threat.

“Wayne,” Slade smirked. He pushed off from the door frame to circle around Bruce, to the other side of the bed. He cupped Dick’s face and Dick blinked up at him. “You okay, little bird?”

“I’m alright,” Dick murmured. “I got some sleep. No nightmares, even after the Jason thing.”

“The Jason thing?” Bruce barked. Slade ignored him, and the thrill of it curled in Dick’s stomach and blossomed in his chest. Few could ignore Bruce Wayne.

“That’s good, little bird,” Slade said, kissing Dick’s forehead. Bruce sucked in a sharp breath, but Dick didn’t spare him a glance. Slade checked the temperature on the electric blanket, turned it down. “I do wish you’d slept more. If necessary, we can leave the city. You need space from this environment, you need rest.”

Everything Slade said lately sounded so reasonable, rational.

“Absolutely not,” Bruce growled, actually growled. The sound set Dick’s nerves on edge, once upon a time. As it was, Slade could beat Bruce in a fight. Dick had seen it.

“That’d be nice,” Dick smiled softly. He was tired. He’d been violated too many times the past few weeks; a few weeks out of city (out of state, out of country) felt sweeter than what he could afford.

“It won’t last,” Bruce snapped. “Dick, whatever he promises, whatever devotion he shows, it’s a calculation. You know better.”

Dick did know better. He’d been a police officer, he was a detective, he was a vigilante. He knew his relationship with Bruce was unhealthy. That Bruce prioritized control over boundaries or safety. Dick didn’t have delusions that Slade would change for him, but unlike Bruce, Slade was at least capable of change.

“Leave, Bruce,” Dick said, still looking at Slade. “Or I’ll call Alfred.”

Slade snorted. Bruce did not.

“What, pray tell, do you think Alfred will say about this little arrangement?” Bruce hissed.

That earned a glance.

“Do you want to find out? I can call and ask.”

Bruce frowned. “You’re doing this. You are really doing this.”

“I made a choice,” Dick murmured, looking back at Slade again. “You did too.Now live with it.”

Bruce left, likely not for long. Once they heard the front door close behind him, Dick buried his face into Slade’s chest while Slade rubbed circles on his clothed back.

“I collected three bugs when I came in,” Slade murmured. “There may be more.”

Dick brushed his wrists against Slade’s sides, and nuzzled Slade’s neck and shirt. Slade hesitated and then gently returned the gesture by pressing his wrist against the back of Dick’s neck.

“We’ll do a full sweep tomorrow,” Dick said. “But he really did wake me up. I’m tired.” Emotional fatigue weighed on him, compounded by Bruce’s visit.

Slade hummed and untangled himself from Dick, only to strip down and then slide under the blanket next to Dick. Dick settled down and immediately wrapped himself around Slade again, one hand splaying across Slade’s back. 

“Little one, they’re unsuitable. They can't provide for you. They're not good for you,” Slade murmured.

“I know,” Dick mumbled into Slade’s skin. Dick felt heavy, but energy buzzed underneath his skin, keeping him from drifting. His hand drifted from Slade’s back to his hip. He toyed with the waistband of Slade’s briefs. Slade hiked up Dick’s sleep shirt and massaged his back. “You’re not either,” Dick reminded him.

“I know,” Slade snorted. “Which is a reminder, little bird, that there is no good, no bad. Not really.Only choices.”

“And what of bad choices?” Dick challenged, craning his neck to look up at Slade. Slade pulled him closer.

“Those are yours to make.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taaka is a trash vodka and if you drink it you should love yourself and drink literally anything else.


End file.
